Rating: PG

Summary: If you have strong fundamentalist/evangelical beliefs, you might want to leave this behind...religion and its purveyors are not very positively presented here. The point of view is mine and mine alone. The fact is, these people scare me to death, and I don't mind letting it be known that they do. Just be warned that there is a definite POV here, and the author refuses to apologize for it.

Spoilers: Nope.
 

January 16, 2000

We meet Ally and Langly in the kitchen; they look a little surprised to see us coming upstairs together, but they don't say anything.

This freaks me out, because Langly would normally be ready to pounce on me.

I know he's wigged out about his sister. I ask her if they know what's wrong yet.

"Today. Hopefully. Or not. Least we should hear something."

He at least looks like he got some sleep.

We need to shoot some pool, take his mind off stuff.

It was real weird taking a shower down in the dungeon again...haven't done that in a while. And of course, Miranda the towel-sucking monster didn't leave much in the linen closet for us, but I think that made me feel more at home.

I would've loved to have showered with Kelly, but I didn't ask, and she didn't ask me.

God, she smells good with wet hair, though. Sort of like apples and cinnamon.

I was hoping to catch a glimpse of her naked, but she came out of the bathroom all dressed.

I did the same when I came out.

But oh God, the kiss we had...oh man.

That was incredible.

I decide I could get real used to getting kissed like this every morning.
 

ALLY:

"So what's the plan?" I ask Langly as we make our way into DC. It's snowing lightly, just enough to make it slick and obnoxious.

"Work until 2 again...then I'll pick you up?"

"Yeah, I have Cray time from 11 to 1." I'm missing my physics tutorial because I have Cray time, which is considered a scarce resource.

"Oh, yeah. Okay. Here's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna Telnet into the Cray just before 11, and I'll start pulling your data, and it'll go to my computer back in the office, I'll reroute it that way, and then you'll have a backup in case somebody wants to be an asshole about your stuff and try and swipe it again."

"I don't know the Telnet address."

He looks as me as if I've lost it. "So?"

Oh yeah. Little things like that are not a problem for him.

How useful to have a computer criminal in the family.

He looks anything but criminal this morning. We finally got some sleep, and he got up in enough time to blow-dry his hair, and he looks a hell of a lot better than he has in recent days. The stubble is gone and the eyes are more blue than red for a change.

"Hope Sheridan's in today. I gotta talk to him about some stuff." Probably about Joan, and work-related things that I don't ask about and he doesn't tell me.

We're at Georgetown, and I put my head on his shoulder for a moment before leaving.

"Langly?"

"Hmm?"

"Love you." I don't say it often enough. It's not an easy phrase for me.

But today, it fell right out of my mouth.

I promise myself, then and there, that I'll say it more often.

Before it's too late.

Because sometimes it is.
 
 

Working on the Cray is not my favorite thing to do, particularly after my last experience with lost data. Langly doesn't understand this. Crays are a programmer's wet dream. I, however, am simply trying to be a humble biomathematician, and I find it a bit intimidating. The fact that there is a new sysop there every time doesn't help. And this one acts like he's doing me a huge favor by logging me on.

By the time I finish, though, it's only an hour till I leave. And I have plenty to keep me occupied until then.

I lose my concentration, though, by about 1:45 and decide to go outside and wait. I know where Langly comes to get me; this way he doesn't have to deal with finding parking, always a major challenge in DC.

Big mistake.

I'm lighting up a cigarette when I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I almost shoot twenty feet in the air. I want to scream, Langly, don't do that, but...

It ain't Langly.

No, it's my nemesis.

He hasn't been around in a while. How foolish of me to become complacent, though.

"Get out of here!" I'm almost screaming.

"I just wanted to say, I'm sorry about your sister-in-law."

"What about her?"

"Surely you won't deny that she's terribly ill now, will you? No major secret there."

"No secrets for you, you bastard."

"Allison, Allison, your mouth." His speech is slow, lazy, as he lights one of his acrid Morleys.

I'm a smoker and I think they're disgusting.

The problem is, I can no longer deny my connection to him. Or at least my father's connection.

I've seen the photos.

And he's in more than one of them.

My father knew this person. Apparently knew him reasonably well.

I asked my brother Rob if he remembered his name, but he didn't. And Jason would have been an infant at the time, and I'm not talking to Dan.

I still fear him.

"Is that all?" I ask him. "Because my husband will be here any minute, and he's not going to be happy to see you."

"Oh, I'm so terribly frightened. I just wanted you to know that if you needed any help with regards to the former Mrs. Renshaw..."

"Thank you, but I don't think you can give her the kind of help she needs." My voice has hardened into cut glass, with which I am trying to rip into his resistance.

Futility. He is positively implacable.

"Oh, you'd be surprised, young lady. You'd be surprised."

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Talk about bad omens.
 

And it's bad. Joan looks to be asleep when we come in, but she hears us and opens her eyes.

Julie looks as if somebody shot her.

"Sit down, little one," she motions to her brother. "And you too, Ally. Please." She takes her Langly's hand; hers looks so thin wrapped around his.

"How're you doing, baby brother?" she asks him gently, tears beginning to glint in her eyes.

"So how bad was the news?" he almost whispers to her.

"It's...pretty bad, little one."

Julie can't take this again; she's obviously heard it once. She excuses herself. I'm tempted to follow her, but Joan shakes her head, indicates that her daughter needs this time to herself.

Joan steels herself a bit, as much as she's capable. "I have...a virulent form of leukemia, Ringo." She's drawing hard breaths. And I don't think it's simply because she's trying not to cry.

She's deteriorated markedly even in these few days.

He looks at her quizzically. "Don't they have stuff they can give you for that?"

She shakes her head. "They do. But in this form...chemotherapy has only about an even chance...a little bit better with very high dose chemotherapy."

My friend Robyn went through chemotherapy.

Hell on earth.

"Anything else?" Langly is grabbing at anything right now.

"Well...no. I couldn't ask you to do that, little one."

He looks really puzzled now. "Ask me what? Joanie?"

She looks him over sadly. "No. You can't do that. I know what it was like for you the first time."

"What're you talking about?" This is not coming together for him.

"My best chance is to find a compatible bone marrow donor...and my best match is a sibling, if that sibling is compatible."

He looks at her in amazement. "Joanie? You got a sibling."

"They're testing Julie tomorrow...I'd really rather she didn't go through that...children aren't usually good donors, because they have genes from different parents."

"Well, we have the same ones!" He's getting agitated.

"Ringo. I know how much you hated getting this test done last time. I can't make you do that. And truthfully, I only have about an even chance, even if you're compatible."

"Joanie, are you insane! Even's better than no chance!"

"Look, Ringo...if it's my time...it's my time..."

"That is such BULLSHIT!" He's nearly screaming now. "You sound like Roy talking, not you!"

"Ringo, please..."

We hear footsteps outside the door, multiples. They don't stay outside the door for long.

Julie enters back in, accompanied by a very tall, very muscular, dark-haired young man, dressed up a la Byers.

"Oh shit." Langly leans over and mutters in my ear.

"Mom." The young man leans over her, takes her hand. "When Julianne told me, I came right over-"

"How are you, Chris?" Joan says softly.

Oh fuck. The nephew.

The rising young star of the organization, from what I gather.

"We're all praying for you, Mom." The young man seems sincere enough; the alarm in his eyes is quite real, from what I can tell.

"Chris, say hello to your Uncle Ringo," Joan admonishes her son.

Chris peers over at Langly, and his eyes travel to me. "Hello." His voice has become cool. "And you are?" He stares at me like he's never seen red hair before. Either that, or I've grown two heads and become the devil incarnate in the last thirty seconds.

"This is my wife, her name's Ally," Langly informs him in a flat, emotionless voice. "How're you doing, Chris?"

Chris doesn't answer him. He turns his attention back to his mother. "I came to pray over you myself."

Oh Jesus. This kid has an ego more monstrous than mine. And that's saying a lot.

He stares pointedly at us. "I'd prefer if you two would leave the room for now."

Langly shoots a hard, irritable look at him. "And I'd prefer we didn't."

Chris takes on a look that suggests we're trying his patience. "Look, Uncle, I'm aware that you married an infidel-"

"'Scuse me, she's a Jew, not an infidel. Don't you ever call her that again." His voice is low and menacing now. "And she's my wife, and you can treat me like shit if you like, but you treat her with some respect." The tone has turned a lot more threatening than I'm accustomed to hearing in Langly.

"She prays to a false God," Chris argues.

"Look, I'm going out. Langly, come on." I turn to Joan. "We'll be back soon."

Joan gives me a look that says, please, don't take my baby brother away...but right now, I'd like to avoid any entanglements with this individual...if he's anything like his father, he could get very unpleasant.

And he's bigger than Langly.

Langly would like to take down his nephew, but I shoot him the Look, and he complies.

Maybe he's not in the mood to have his nose rearranged again.
 

"I'd say your nephew qualifies as a major asshole," I comment to Langly. We're on the sidewalk, smoking Marlboro Lights and sipping Starbucks while it begins to sleet a little.

I really hate DC in the winter.

"Chris? Oh yeah. Sad thing is, we used to have lots of fun when he was a little guy. Julie, like we argued and teased and stuff, but Chris, man, we just used to have a blast together. And he used to think I was cool."

"Then his father corrupted him." The remark is intended to be humorous, but it won't work today.

"Yeah. No shit." He takes a hard drag on the Marlboro. For somebody who smokes as infrequently as he does, he inhales pretty well.

"So babe? What about Joan? I mean, she's the real focus here."

"I'll see if I'm compatible." He shrugs.

"Means another stab near the heart."

He looks at me and shakes his head. "Yeah. But nothing like the stab in the heart I'll get if I don't do anything."

"What if she refuses?"

"She won't." He shakes his hair behind his shoulders.

"You can't force her, you know."

He smiles a very tiny smile. "Yeah. But I can guilt her." The grin widens.

"You wouldn't. Not when she's like this."

"Bet me."

I think about this. Yes, he probably could. Among his many qualities-most of them sterling, some of them more odious-is his ability to manipulate people.

And I don't doubt he could work Joan. How, I'm not sure, but I'm willing to believe he can do it.

And the more I think about it, the more I realize, he would.

He's not going to lose her again if he can do anything in the world to help
it.

I think he'd sell his soul to the highest bidder right now if it meant that
Joan would get well.

Even if that bidder was the embodiment of evil.

He'd do it.

I'm working this thought when he speaks again. "Sheridan wasn't there again today." He looks troubled again, brows knitted together. "And no word from him. Weird. And I really gotta talk to him."

"Looks like you'll be taking some time off."

"That, and I got a bunch of problems...can't go into it, but let's just say, where the fuck is he when I need him."

"Maybe he's among the ailing." Which, according to the news, is about 2/3 of the United States right now.

"No." His head gives a hard, definite shake. "Sheridan comes in when he's near death. And when his partner died, he only took a couple days off, and he stayed on line with us...weirdness."

"Know where he lives?"

"Yeah. But I think I'd feel weird just barging in on him. Sheridan's kinda private. Had to be all these years."

"Then again, it's not like him to do this."

"Yeah, I know."

"Send him e-mail?"

"Yeah. His personal one. No answer last night. And Sheridan's like, he gets an e-mail, he answers it in real time."

"Maybe you should let weirdness fade into the background on this one and just drop by."

"Maybe. But right now, I got enough to worry about here."

Truer words never spoken.

"Think we should go back in?" I've finished smoking, and he's got his burnt down almost to the filter.

"What, and interrupt His Holiness?" A slow smile spreads over the features, and dissolves into sheer wickedness. "Yeah. Let's."

We almost giggle on the way back to Joan's room.
 

We don't need to ask if Chris is still with his mother. We can hear the bombast emerging.

Fuck. He's PREACHING at her, for God's sake.

She's lying there, dying, and he's telling her to fucking repent?!

Repent for what?

Isn't this payment enough for anything she could possibly have done? I mean, if you believe in that sort of thing-and I don't. Jews tend to believe in the randomness of bad luck.

If you can call losing 6 million of your own bad luck.

I can almost deal with this little prick-we expect this kind of behavior from his father's protégé. But what's truly unnerving is hearing Julie echo her brother.

We know she has to do it. It's part of her charade.

At least I hope it's a charade. But it still makes me nervous.

Langly and I stand outside the door, not quite ready to plunge in.

He looks at me and makes a gagging gesture, and inappropriately enough, the giggle gods swoop down on me and take over.

I do the most embarrassing things when I'm stressed.

Langly's stressed, too, and my giggling forces him to break, and pretty soon, we're both in a fit of giggles.

Unfortunately, we don't move away from the door. So much for having any decent judgment left. And we're greeted momentarily by a disapproving Julie.

"Guys." Her whisper is harsh. "This isn't helping me."

Langly looks immediately penitent. "Sorry."

"Look, this is going to be hard enough...right now I think I'm going to puke. So cool it, okay?" She vanishes back in the room.

And we follow her.

Chris gives us an ugly look. He speaks about the forgiveness of the Lord, but his facial expressions suggest that he, the human, feels anything but forgiving towards us.

And Julie has to play along with this. She looks utterly unnerved by this point.

I think she just realized that this is going to be harder than she thought.

I hope she's a better actress than I think she is, or that her brother and father are so caught up in their own egos that they don't notice her misery and unease.

Chris gives us another condescending look. "I think you two should leave."

Now Julie speaks up. "Chris, no. They love Mom, too. A little charity, okay?"

She is going to have to get a lot better at this if she's going to be undercover in the organization.

He eyes me hard in particular. "I don't think the prayers of a Jew are going to help her."

I'd like to point out that if there's a God-and I'm getting more and more skeptical all the time-he'll listen up to anybody's babble. In any language.

"You know why your people have suffered, don't you?"

Oh please. Here we go. We killed Christ and all that crap. I've heard it before.

Langly is related to these people?

I'm beginning to question my own judgment regarding bringing Joan back to us.

But I change my mind when I see the pleading expression in her eyes as they travel back and forth between her children and her brother and me.

They're awash in anguish. She's getting it on all sides.

Maybe it's time for us to leave.

Besides, there's somebody we need to go and visit.

I whisper this to Langly, and he doesn't look happy about the suggestion, but he acquiesces. He kisses his sister on the cheek, and we're just about to get up when Dr. Walker comes in.

She's pleasant enough, but brisk as usual.

The woman does cut to the chase, I'll give her that.

"There you are. Just the man I wanted to see." Her eyes hit on Langly. She's got the most direct gaze I've ever seen.

"Hi." His voice is tentative.

"I'd like to test you as a compatible bone marrow donor."

He shrugs. "Name the time."

"Tomorrow. Be here at 1 p.m. I'll do the test right after lunch. Now let me explain what's involved-"

"I had it done once. I know the drill."

"I see. Then you know what to expect. Where was your last puncture, hip or breastbone?"

"Breastbone." He winces a little.

"We could do it in the hip this time. It does make sitting down a bit uncomfortable afterwards, but the choice is yours."

"Don't care." He shakes his head. "Whatever works."

Chris looks vaguely alarmed. "Is this a good idea?" He matches Dr. Walker's direct stare.

The guy does know how to make eye contact. He's so good, it's creepy.

Dr. Walker, gratefully, is not a woman with a high tolerance for bullshit. "Well, it's Ms. Langly's-"

"Her name is Mrs. Renshaw," Chris points out harshly.

"She's registered as Joan Langly, and she is the patient here, young man, and she can call herself the Cat in the Hat for all I care. My concern is getting her well, not titles or semantics. Are we clear on that?" Her deep brown eyes bore into his.

I think I actually see him blink.

I never figured I could warm up to this brusque woman, but in that moment, I connect with her.

"If you're interested in Ms. Langly's survival here, I suggest you not argue with whatever we can do here." Her voice is cool and sharp.

"Maybe the Lord wills this for Mom, Chris," Julie says gently. "I mean, he does use people in strange ways..."

Chris contemplates this, and accedes. He turns to Langly. "Don't think of this as a way of buying into the forgiveness of God."

Langly's turn to eye him back. "Hey, I just want Joanie to live, dude. What about you?"

He closes his eyes for a moment. "I want for her whatever God wills."

"Listen, people. Your religious beliefs are your problem, not mine. If you have questions about medical protocol, ask away. If it's questions in the spiritual realm, well, they don't teach us that in medical school." She looks at Langly, and this time, her eyes are a bit softer. "So I can count on you not to be late?"

Langly nods in the affirmative. "I'll be here with bells on. Uh, can I ask you something?"

"As long as it doesn't deal with the existence of man, ask away. I'm not very good in the philosophical realm."

"Uh...like, can my wife be there?"

I was not expecting this. Oh boy.

Dr. Walker frowns for a moment. "Well...it's not standard...are you squeamish, ma'am?"

Oh, God. I'm old enough to be called ma'am. Or maybe she's just trying to be courteous. I don't know, and I don't fucking care right now.

"Not really."

"If both of you can stay calm, then she can be there. But if she begins to interfere with the process, she'll have to leave. Fair enough?"

We both nod.

I do wish he'd asked me about this ahead of time, but then again, he's been know to spring some surprises on me.

"Now, all of you leave. I need to see Ms. Langly, and I suspect she'd prefer not to have an audience."

This is our cue to leave, and even Chris knows when he's beaten this time.

Langly bends over his sister again, and I think I hear her whisper 'thank you' to him.

He just shrugs like, no big deal.

I look at his nephew, and I wonder if he'd have the same courage and compassion that his uncle has.

Somehow, I doubt it.

END OF PART 51